


Missing Martha

by yuletide_archivist



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-19
Updated: 2006-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 02:19:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1626377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yuletide_archivist/pseuds/yuletide_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha Hudson comes to Holmes to ask help finding some of her lost photographs.only to find out that she has actually lost something more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing Martha

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! I hope you like this story, since it's my first time actually writing for the series. (.I hope I didn't botch up the attempt or anything.) I meant to write a gen fic with Mrs. Hudson as the main character, but as I ran out of time I had to settle with this idea.I'm sorry. I still want to write the gen story, though, so I could still e-mail it to you, if you wish to read it. ^^; btw, most of the details I put here in "Missing Martha" I got from your fic, "The Rule of Three", which I thought was really written, by the way, so I thought to use your timeline. I hope it's all right? I admit I never really noticed Mrs. Hudson before, until I saw your request, and now I have so many plot ideas revolving around her and Holmes and Watson.so thank you! :D Um, the fic is basically Watson/Martha and Holmes/Martha and not Holmes/Watson, since I've always been a bit uncomfortable with slash.
> 
> Written for serenissima

 

 

Missing Martha

The years have little changed Mr. Sherlock Holmes, even in his retirement: though he no longer took any cases as of late, there was always a grave intensity in his countenance as he went about his daily tasks, and oftentimes would even swear off all human company, preferring the company of his bees. Those days I know better than to disturb him, even when there were important matters at hand; in any case I managed to handle all financial matters concerning the farm at Sussex Downs quite capably without his assistance, and most of the time, he was an ideal tenant, paying for his rent, and the cost of keeping all his bees, on time.

One morning in the summer of 1913, however, as I had a most irksome predicament, I emboldened to disturb him as he went about tending to his bees. This rather intrepid act, I reasoned, was only right, as I was suffering from my little dilemma for about a month at the time, and I even found myself unable to sleep because of it. It was not as grave as most of the cases Mr. Holmes ever handled, I suppose it was petty, even, but there was no else I could turn to, and there was not much harm in speaking to him, I thought.

By good fortune, he seemed to be in good spirits that morning, and he even smiled at me as I spoke to him. "Anything I can do for you, Mrs. Hudson?" said he, standing up to speak to me, his straw hat askew.

"Oh, sir," I said, "I know you will think this problem a mere trifle, but I would be grateful for your assistance. Do not be alarmed, sir; it does not involve kidnappings, or even something as horrible as a murder--"

"That is much appreciated, Mrs. Hudson," he said, still good-naturedly, much to my relief. "For I am no longer young. But my mind craves a bit of activity every now and then. What, then, is the nature of your dilemma?"

"A small thing," I said, a little embarrassed. I wrung my hands as I spoke. "It could involve a possible theft. I am merely missing several photographs. I know I have brought them with me when I moved to South Downs, but now I cannot seem to find them--"

"Who do you think could have stolen them?"

"I do not wish to think ill of her," I said, "But only Ellie, that girl who I hired as a serving-maid last week, could have done it. I caught her stealing money from me last week, and thus had no choice but to ask her to leave. Before she left, some of my money did go missing, along with these photographs."

"And she took the photographs to deal you a personal blow, I presume," he said thoughtfully, "Since she knew it was one of your prized possessions."

I nodded. "Your ability to read minds is uncanny, Mr. Holmes, and you are right. I know I could not have just misplaced them, either, because I almost turned the house inside out just looking for them."

Mr. Holmes stood thinking for a moment, and presently, nodded. "I will help you, Mrs. Hudson. This will prove to be a short task, no doubt, and later I can probably go back to my bees. I have made a most serendipitous discovery, you see, Mrs. Hudson, which involves the separation of the queen to improve honey--ah, but you would not be interested to hear that..."

I assured him that I was very much interested, and he went on as we walked back to my quarters. We stepped inside the house, and I pointed out to him the small drawer where I kept all of my photographs, letters, and documents.

"Here, Mr. Holmes," I said, handing to him the photographs and papers, "These are all that I found inside my drawer. I really do not wish to be angry at the poor child, but oh, I cannot help it, sir... not only did she take all my old photographs and old letters from my late husband, she replaced it with these letters--letters she no doubt stole from another. Oh, what a truly wretched girl she is!"

I was so upset that I forgot myself, and already I felt the tears forming behind my eyes. I hastily composed myself after realizing my sudden outburst, and I looked at Mr. Holmes calmly again, waiting for an answer.

He was looking at the photograph rather strangely, scrutinizing each of them. He stared at one photograph, then at me, then at a letter in his other hand.

"I--" he said, then his voice trailed off, and he could only stare at the photograph in his hand. It was the first time I have ever seen him at a loss, and this alarmed me greatly.

"Mr. Holmes," I said, "What seems to be the matter? Does this mean, then, that the problem was graver than I thought?"

"Perhaps," he said. He tapped the photograph with one hand. "This photograph is yours, Mrs. Hudson."

I shook his head. "You must be mistaken, Mr. Holmes! I do not know these people."

"No," he said, with a touch of irony, "I am rarely mistaken. The woman here is you, and the man with you--your husband, I recall. He looks much like the man in the photograph you put in your mantelpiece, back in Baker Street."

"No, no," I insisted, hysteria unconsciously creeping into my voice. "That cannot be Jack--"

"And do these words not seem familiar, Mrs. Hudson?" said he. " `Every day at sea I think of you, and the child you bear inside you. Come Christmas day I will finally be with you, and I wish I did not have to leave you again, Martha--"

I took the letter from his hands, and I read it, again, and again, and again. With tears in my eyes, I collapsed into a nearby chair, laughing with relief.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes," said I, breathlessly, "You're right, these are my letters, and my photographs. I cannot imagine how I thought otherwise. Perhaps it was merely the strain of having to deal with Ellie--I apologize for all the trouble I caused, Mr. Holmes."

"Mrs. Hudson," he said, and there was a troubled expression on his face, which I did not think of at the time, so relieved was I at the turnout of events. "Please do not hesitate to come to me, the next time you have a similar predicament. I would only be too glad to help."

And even then I did not think this strange, for Mr. Holmes so rarely indulged me--then, I thought only of my relief, and the good stroke of fortune that I met. As I should have known, Mr. Holmes knew more of things than I did, or, as he would point out later, he merely saw what other people chose to remain blind to.

***

A week passed by without incident, but one morning I was surprised to see Mr. Holmes at my door, when he would normally have been tending to his bees at that time of the morning. Before he stepped inside the door, he pressed a small parcel into my hand, beaming.

"I received a letter today from Watson," said he, stepping inside. "And he wishes to have some amount of honey, to try out as an alternative treatment for his patients. Of course, as the bees I keep make the best honey in all of England, he wrote to me...notwithstanding, of course, the fact that in honor of our old friendship, I will give them to him free of charge."

We laughed at that, and somehow felt very odd, laughing with Mr. Holmes. After I got my breath back, I said, "And you wish me to bring it to him?"

"I would like to apologize," he said, a pained expression coming to his face, "But he needs it immediately, and--"

"It is perfectly all right, Mr. Holmes," I said, smiling back at him. "We no longer have a servant girl, or even an errand boy, and I understand that you cannot leave your bee-tending. Don't you worry, though, for it would be a pleasant enough errand...I have long wondered about how Dr. Watson is doing, and it would be wonderful to see him again."

He looked relieved at that, and after thanking me again, he took his leave; but not without first scrutinizing me carefully, almost worriedly, but when I was about to remark on it, the look disappeared, and he stepped out of the door.

***

The years have little changed Dr. John H. Watson, as well: he was only a little bit more heavyset, and his hair was thin and gray, but the same mild expression was still on his face, as well as the air of general amiability about him. He was very much pleased with seeing me, more than seeing the honey, even, as the parcel lay forgotten on the table where he had put it down.

"Mrs. Hudson!" said he, "I am so glad to see you. How have you been? And Holmes? Is he well?"

"We're all quite well, sir," I said.

"You've taken up knitting," he said suddenly, grinning like a proud schoolboy.

"What! Oh, yes, sir--"

"And sewing, too, I can see," he went on. "You injured yourself while sewing--I can see the wound on your third finger. The knitting I figured from the calluses on your fingers."

I stared at him, awestruck. "Sir, you are amazing!"

"Oh no, Mrs. Hudson," he said modestly. "I have merely finally figured out how Holmes does these little mind-reading tricks of his. I have tried it on my wife several times. It really is as simple as he claims."

"That makes it no less amazing, sir," I said. "By the way, how are you and your wife doing?" As I said this, I suddenly felt warmth creeping up on my cheeks, accompanied with a feeling that was not altogether pleasant. What that meant, and how it came about, I could not explain, so I only kept smiling.

"We are also well," he said. "And happy, of course. My first child is about to undertake Medicine himself, and my wife and I are so proud...we await his graduation with high expectations. My wife will be here presently, and--oh! I think I hear her footsteps upon the street."

Sure enough, there was a knock on the door, and he opened the door, letting in Mrs. Watson, a woman not much younger than myself, smiling and gentle-faced, like her husband.

I stood up, and said, "It is a pleasure to see you again," I said warmly, taking her hand, "I hope you are well, Mrs. Mary."

To my surprise, a bewildered look came upon her features, and though I offered my hand, she stood unmoving, staring first at her husband, then at me. Manners took over her bewilderment, however, and soon, she was smiling again as she took my hand.

Mrs. Watson and I exchanged pleasantries for a while, she telling me of their children, and I telling her of Mr. Holmes and the farm back at Sussex, until Dr. Watson asked to see me in the library. He was frowning, and he paced the room back and forth before he finally spoke.

"Mrs. Hudson," he began, breathing deeply, "Have you really forgotten?"

"Forgotten what?" I asked, puzzled.

"You called my wife Mary," said he, sadly. "Mary--dear Mary--passed away a long time ago, back in the winter of 1893."

"But--" I shook my head. "Then who was it that I was speaking to earlier? It was Miss Mary Morstan; I could have sworn it was. She was--"

"Do you not recall Miss Constance Adams?" he asked, leaning forward. "You attended the wedding, in fact, and even managed to persuade Holmes to come to the wedding..."

"I recall no such thing!" I exclaimed. "Dr. Watson, it was Miss Mary I was speaking to, not anyone else."

"Then...you recall nothing? Not even Mary's death?"

"No," I said, shaking. I sat down on a nearby chair, close to the fireplace, hoping to soothe my nerves. "I do not understand how you could play me like this, Mr. Watson, for I really have no memory of anything like that happening..."

"Then you have no memory of anything that happened after?"

"Dr. Watson," I implored, "Please, stop this now."

"Oh, Martha," he whispered, too low almost for me to hear, too low for his wife to hear, I was sure. "Then you do not remember..."

His voice trailed off, and he did not go on, but he did not need to. I turned away, and began to cry, more out of relief than sorrow.

Dr. Watson took another chair and placed it beside my own. He bent over to take my hand, and at that moment I felt warmer, at last. It brought to mind the things I had not forgotten, even though I forgot the things that led to it happening--a spring morning, still a little bit cold, the two of us standing over a grave, the world around us only just beginning to come back to life, our hands clasping, without knowing, without thinking of the consequences. That was the first time, the first time we realized what we felt, and I will never forget. It ended, of course, I remembered it only then: we were happy for a time, for I had decided that we will never be truly happy.

Odd, that I had forgotten, when it had all been my doing.

"I apologize, James," I said, and flushing, revised hastily, "--Dr. Watson, sir. Forgive me for that momentary lapse."

"Anything I can get you, Mrs. Hudson?" he said, no longer in the tone in which he spoke to me previously, but he still did not let go of my hand.

"I think some tea will calm my nerves, sir, if you would not mind."

"I'll ask Bessie," he said, standing up. "Perhaps you should spend the night here, as well. I'll ask them to clear a room for you--no, it's no trouble at all, Mrs. Hudson. I assume you have not taken an inn yet. Besides, I would also like you to deliver a package for Holmes for me, and a letter, which I presume would take me a long time to write, for I have not heard from him in years."

He paid no heed to my protests, and merely called on his servant to aid me. As Bessie whisked me off to the room reserved for guests, I risked one glance at him. His wife was speaking to him, and though he nodded at her, his eyes were on me. There was worry etched deep on his features, and I was alarmed; not for myself, but because of the undue pain I was causing him, a second time.

***

I came back to Sussex a few days later than I had meant, for there were some matters in which I was only happy to assist Mrs. Constance with. Mr. Holmes did not seem mind, however, and even seemed to have expected it. He only glanced at the new bonnet I had received from Mrs. Watson and the letter in my hand when I arrived, nodded, and told me that I did not need to explain, and if I did not believe him he could give me an account of all the things he deduced had transpired in the Watson residence.

I hastily shook my head no, for by that time I no longer needed proof of Mr. Holmes' skills. I was also afraid that he might deduce everything that happened, and that certainly, I cannot bear, and Dr. Watson would also not wish for it.

I went back to my quarters after giving him the package and Dr. Watson's letter, where I proceeded to unpack my luggage. I was just about to finish when there came a knock on my door, and opening it, was surprised to see Mr. Holmes once more upon my doorstep.

"Mrs. Hudson," he said, "I apologize, but think I find myself in a bit of a mood to-night, and my mind is craving activity. Would you be interested in a puzzle?"

I frowned a little at this strange behavior, but as I had so often seen him in these fits of restlessness so many times, I said, "Well, what kind of puzzle, sir?"

He stepped inside the room, and in the light I saw that he was carrying a wooden box, locked tightly with a large silver lock, still gleaming. "You have done this before, I remember," he said.

I smiled and clapped my hands, taking the box in my hands. "Of course, I remember," I said. "This was the box in which you used to teach me how to pick a lock--it was during that time I assisted you in the tracking and arrest of Huret, the Boulevard assassin."

"Yes," he exclaimed, looking quite pleased that I had spoken of the time before. "You have always been most valuable companion in some of our cases, Mrs. Hudson, although Watson seems to write so little about those cases--there was that piece about the capture of Colonel Moran, of course, but that is only one among the many cases you have helped us in. Perhaps you should have been given more credit, Mrs. Hudson. I have asked him before, many times, why he still does not do so, but all he can give me are apologies."

I flushed, suddenly, and looked down, hoping that Mr. Holmes would not be quite as perceptive as to see that I was uncomfortable speaking of the matter. I knew why Dr. Watson did not wish to write of those cases, as he knew I did not wish to reveal to Holmes, and much less the public, anything of what had come between us before. It was hardly proper, I knew.

"I would not wish to be known by the public, Mr. Holmes," I said, to cover up my embarrassment, "I would not get a moment's peace! Several people would have probably come to me during those days, asking about you and how to get into your good graces, and such."

He chuckled in agreement, and he placed the chair on the table at the center of the room. "Well then, Mrs. Hudson," he said. "Do you still recall how to pick a lock? I am not sure if I can still do so, myself. I have lost the key to this box, thus there is no way for us to open it, if both of us were to fail."

I smiled and took out a needle from my sewing-box, and after filing the point off so as not to prick myself, I proceeded to open the lock. I admit I was a bit anxious that I would not be able to do it since it had been years since I last had to, but several minutes later I gave a cry of triumph, as the lock clicked open, and fell to the floor.

"Bravo, Mrs. Hudson!" He picked up the lock from the floor. "I am impressed that you have still recalled this, after so many years. In truth, I had suspected that you have forgotten, and this is one of those few rare times that I was actually pleased that I was wrong."

"Oh, Mr. Holmes," I said, wishing I could clap my hands in my delight, "I feel many years younger!" And for a moment I had, in fact, forgotten that I was almost two years beyond sixty, and I even thought that I was back in 221B Baker Street, with my two most unusual, but beloved, tenants.

"There is nothing more exhilarating than giving the mind a bit of exercise, I think, Mrs. Hudson," said Mr. Holmes. "It is the key to immortality. It makes me almost wish I could have a case to work on, with Watson, my faithful Boswell, and you, Mrs. Hudson, if you would still deign to assist us, despite being a woman of good sense."

"I would love to, Mr. Holmes," I said. "Be it in good sense or not, I enjoyed being of assistance to you and Dr. Watson."

"That makes me easy in my mind, Mrs. Hudson," he said. "For if the time comes..."

I looked up at him, but he only looked out the window, his eyes fixed on something I could not see.

"Would such a time come, sir?" I dared to ask.

"We cannot be certain," he only said gravely. "So if you would be willing, be ready. And do not forget."

"Forget what, sir?"

"Ah, Mrs. Hudson." He sighed, and stood thoughtful afterwards, tapping his fingers on the table. "I can only hope Watson and I were both mistaken, for your assistance in this final problem--if ever I do choose to accept the task--would be necessary. There is no one else we both can trust."

He stared at me with such a quiet intensity that I flushed a second time, and I stood looking down at my feet, as minutes of silence passed between us.

This was the closest, I knew, that Mr. Holmes could ever come to speaking of his regard for anyone. It was especially difficult, having lived for so long with him as my tenant; he was never crotchety or anything of the sort, and I was even rather fond of him--a fondness that would have, had things been clearer between us, probably become more, as it had with Dr. Watson--but I never could know what was on his mind.

"I will not worry you further, Mrs. Hudson," he continued, "By telling you of our fears. Perhaps it may be unfounded, even irrational. We are both much advanced in years, and decrepit gentlemen tend to exaggerate everything."

I laughed, and said, a bit tartly, "Oh, Mr. Holmes, you forget that I am older than you both are. I am very much offended, but I forgive you both, being such good tenants, those years before. If it will ease your mind, Mr. Holmes," I said, "Then you do not need to tell me of what it is that you and Dr. Watson fear; and I will trouble you no longer about it."

And he only smiled, still with that grave look on his face.

***

The days after passed quickly. Mr. Holmes returned to his normal routine, and he remained the same, intent on his bees, but for me, to my great distress, realized that I was no longer the same--day after day brought more inconveniences for me. I forgot little things: paying my dues on time, several details concerning financial matters of the farm, and meetings with Mrs. Pearce and some of my female acquaintances. One morning I woke up and I completely could not remember my husband's name, and the whole day I did not leave the house, just trying to remember. I only remembered in the afternoon, when Mr. Holmes came to call, and I exclaimed, Jack!, and I kept repeating it in my head after, so I would not forget.

One morning in the autumn, as the leaves on the trees near the farm were just turning to a sad yellow, we received a most surprising visit, the Premier himself. I was shocked, even though Mr. Holmes had finally told me of the Foreign Minister's visit when I was away; even Mr. Holmes, himself, looked quite floored. They were deep in discussion for a good part of the day, and it was only in the evening that Mr. Holmes went to speak to me.

"A war, Mr. Holmes!" I exclaimed, after he explained everything. "It is most horrible, and almost unthinkable. You have done right to accept the case, sir."

"This is what I have been speaking of," he said. "Times are changing, Mrs. Hudson, and all of England will be hit by such a threat, and I can only do so little. You need not be part of this yet, for I would still need to prepare for this. When the time is right, you shall step in, and I will telegraph even Watson. You would still be willing to assist me, Mrs. Hudson?"

I was wringing my hands and rocking back and forth in my chair, so alarmed was I at the news. "Of course, sir," I said earnestly. "Give me the word, and I--"

I stopped suddenly, and stared wildly at him. "What did you call me, sir?"

He looked at me, eyes wide. "Mrs. Hudson, what--"

"Why do you call me that?" I asked. "I am afraid you are badly mistaken. I am not Mrs. Hudson, no, I am--" With a gasp, I stood up, so rapidly that I flung the chair behind me. "I am--no, I can't remember, I can't--"

"Mrs. Hudson!" Mr. Holmes cried, and he stood up too, putting his hands on my shoulders. I tried to shake him off, screaming that that was not my name, I did not know this Mrs. Hudson--but he only gripped my shoulders harder, and he said only one word.

"Martha."

I stopped struggling. He kept repeating my name--because I knew then, finally, that it was my name--softly, insistently.

"Martha," he said, "That is your name: Martha. Remember this, Martha. Once you were just Mrs. Martha Hudson to me, to Watson and me, a mere name. Then we knew you as our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, then as the years went by, you were more than Mrs. Hudson by then, you became Martha to us: dear old Martha, one of the few fixed points in an otherwise changing world. In our minds we no longer called you Mrs. Hudson, but your name: Martha. Watson loved you, and I--" He coughed suddenly, looking embarrassed, then the stern expression returned on his face, and he continued, "I knew, don't be so surprised. In many ways, you were an invaluable companion, though the whole world would never know now. But to us you will always remain Martha, as Baker Street will always remain to us as home, as now, South Downs is home because you still remain here. You will never be forgotten, thus, you cannot forget yourself."

"Mr. Holmes--" I could only sob after that, and so he did something uncharacteristic of his nature: he took my arm and led me to a chair, by the fire, and bending over my weeping form, took my hands and pressed them.

"What Watson thought you might have now is a highly unusual form of age-related dementia," he said. "A sickness, and a progressive one. Watson had seen some cases of it. It involves forgetfulness, a gradual loss of memory, sometimes very severe that the patients no longer know who they are, or the people once important in their lives. We were afraid of this happening, since the first time you came to me about your missing photographs."

"But--" I said, through my tears, "With this--this condition I have, how could I be of any use to your case? I could suddenly forget myself, and I can give you away--"

"Martha," he said severely, "There is no one else we can trust with such a task, and as I have seen, you are not someone who shall be so easily deterred by a condition, even this. We shall only be easy in our minds if you could do this."

"But there are other agents--"

"Martha," he said sternly. "This is the way we usually work, though no one else knows: me, Watson, and you. And no one else knows of your importance, and that is why you are vital in this final mission. This shall be my last bow, I think--our last bow."

Despite my sorrow, somehow, his last words uplifted my spirits greatly, and I managed to look up at him. Our last bow, he said, our. This was more than I had counted on, more than I thought of their regard for me, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson both. I threw all propriety into the winds and threw my arms around him, smiling and sobbing at the same time.

"We will not abandon you," said Holmes, his tone still cool and impersonal, although there was a small upturning of his lips to one side, as if he was suppressing his mirth. "I'm afraid we will not be able to reverse the course of the disease, but we can provide you the best care possible--I can, at least, as Watson is still bound to his marriage...I will never be able to understand this folly of men. He would, of course, be present for this last case, and when we get through this--"

"I do not wish to forget, Mr. Holmes," I said. "If I forget, how can I ever be happy?"

"These things," he said thoughtfully, "One should not worry about this yet. There is still the case to think of, and one has a limited brain capacity; in other words, we will think of that when it happens. -And one can always make new memories. I believe in hope, despite all appearances."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," I said. It was all I could of to say, and all that he needed, as it appeared.

"Of course, Martha," he said, with a touch of fondness in his voice, a miracle of sorts. "And I hope you would not mind--from now on, I shall call you Martha, not Mrs. Hudson."

"No, sir," I said. "I do not mind. Hearing my name helps me recall better, I think. At least, when you call me by that, I remember you, Dr. Watson, myself--perhaps, these are the only things I do not wish to forget; everything else I can let go. Just not the memory of Baker Street, sir."

***

And it was the truth. The days passed, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson, and I set our trap, von Bork was captured, but even so, we knew, then, that nothing can ever be the same. There is an east wind coming, said Mr. Holmes, and I felt it, too. But I did not think much of it; I at least, still had the memory of happier times, and so did they. The memories sustained us all, and through the days to come, in hope.

 


End file.
